


hau’oli kēia hui ‘ana o kāua

by Siria



Category: Hawaii Five-0 (2010), Suits (TV)
Genre: Crossover, F/F, Gen, M/M, POV Character of Color, POV Female Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-09-03
Updated: 2011-09-03
Packaged: 2017-10-23 09:15:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,760
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/248672
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Siria/pseuds/Siria
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Five-0 team has a visitor.</p>
            </blockquote>





	hau’oli kēia hui ‘ana o kāua

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sheafrotherdon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sheafrotherdon/gifts).



> For Cate, on the occasion of her birthday! Thanks to Dogeared for betaing.

"And you're not listening to me!" Danny said, agitation making his consonants more pronounced, making his hands fly. Brah's arms swung out so wide he knocked a pencil holder off Steve's desk; from her safe vantage point out in the main office area, Kono considered making popcorn. This had been going on for fifteen minutes already, and it gave every sign of getting worse before it got better—tropical storm turning into full-on Hurricane Danno.

Steve marched out of his office, shoulders set, back so straight that Kono's spine twinged in sympathy just looking at it. "And I said, your concerns are noted, but at this point in the investigation—"

Kono repressed a grimace. Boss-man was persisting with the dismissive thing, and there were lots of ways to deal effectively with an agitated Danny, but dismissal was not one of them. She dug her phone out of the pocket of her jeans, texted Chin: _cuz, requesting backup @ hq. like kilauea in here._

"At this point in the investigation," Danny spat, following Steve out, "we know that this stinks. This case stinks, Steven, you know it stinks; this is the malodorous French cheese of cases. Name me one time we've ever been handed a case this big this easy, huh? You don't think it's strange that the CEO of a Fortune 500 company comes to Hawaii, brings _hard copy evidence_ of fraud and criminal malfeasance with him, leaves said hard copies in a nice convenient place in his hotel room where we can just fall over them"—he mimed walking, tripping, with two fingers of his right hand—"when we go to investigate because some nice, anonymous person phones in a tip to HPD about him waltzing a bevy of hookers up there and, like, inviting them to roll around in a hot tub full of coke and powdered Valium?”

Kono's phone buzzed with a reply from Chin: _in case of volcanic eruption, evacuate_. He always did get extra laconic when he was feeling a little smug; if only Kono had known what her day was to bring, she wouldn't have teased him so much earlier about having to spend the morning testifying in the Owens case.

"Uniforms found him with one of them," Steve said, folding his arms so that his biceps bulged pleasantly underneath his shirtsleeves. (What? Kono may have been with Jenna, but she had _eyes._ )

"Yeah," Danny said, jabbing a finger in Steve's direction, "someone who mysteriously disappeared right after they take her statement, and we all know that HPD's never ever had a dirty cop, right? No one's ever taken a payoff over there, it's all good intentions and miracles on 34th Street."

Steve rolled his eyes. "I'm not saying this guy is definitely guilty, Danny, but he's hiding _something_. You saw the way he acted. So until we figure out what, let's go with what we have, okay? Besides, I thought you'd be glad I'm following procedure for once." Steve looked sort of pleased when he said that, Kono thought, like a cat that's just deposited something smelly and dead on your stoop. How someone who was normally so good at Williams-wrangling could occasionally be so bad at it, Kono didn't know.

"Following procedure, good!" Danny yelled. "Hidebound idiocy, bad."

"Now there's a motto to live by," came a cool voice from the entryway. Kono swivelled around in her chair to see a tall, slim woman standing there, holding a leather document binder in one hand. Kono wasn't hugely interested in high fashion, lived in jeans and a tank top, had one pair of heels that gathered dust in her closet between family weddings, but even she could tell that what this woman was wearing probably cost a year of Kono's salary. Her crisp cotton shift dress clung to her body like it had been tailored especially for it; the handbag that was slung from the crook of one elbow was the kind of unobtrusive elegance that people paid thousands for; her only piece of jewellery was an oversized cocktail ring which gleamed on one finger, speckled black and white like a bird’s egg.

"Ma'am," Steve said, hands on his hips, "these are police offices, I'm going to have to ask you to—"

"Yes, Commander McGarrett," the woman said, mouth curving slightly into something that was maybe kin to amusement, but carried a lot more promise of knives. "I'm quite aware of where I am, thank you. My name is Jessica Pearson; I'm Mr Baker's lawyer."

Steve frowned. "I thought he was getting someone in from New York."

"He did," Pearson said, moving a little further into the room. Her heels clicked as she walked, loud in a room where all attention was definitely focused on her. "My flight landed about an hour ago."

Kono arched an eyebrow, saw Danny shift a little from foot to foot in the way he did when he was ferociously assimilating new information. For Pearson to get here as soon as she had, she must have taken a red-eye from the east coast as soon as Baker called her, but she didn't look like she'd just spent ten hours in the air, crammed onto a plane with a couple hundred other people, breathing stale, re-circulated oxygen and listening to little kids scream constantly. She wasn't rumpled, her manner was unhurried; not a hair had come loose from her sleek, high ponytail; that faint smile still played around her mouth.

Kono regretted not having made popcorn.

"I'd say welcome to Hawaii," Danny said, "but I don't lie that well, and frankly, twelve hours ago you were closer to the Yankees than I've been in two years, jealousy makes me snappy. Your client's being held out at Halawa. If you want to go out there and talk him into making bail before the other guests figure out who he is and shank him, we'd be happy to have a member of HPD drive you out there."

"I'm not here to see Theo," Pearson said. "He's already told me everything I need to know. I'm here to give _you_ what you need to free him."

Kono understood why Danny had nicknamed that particular expression of Steve's Aneurysm Face. "Ma'am, we can't talk with you about an ongoing investigation."

Pearson cocked an eyebrow, opened the binder she'd brought with her. "To paraphrase Detective Williams, procedure is all well and good, but idiocy is never acceptable."

Out of the corner of her eye, Kono saw Danny smirk at that, saw him grow pigeon-chested at the compliment. Oh, brother.

Without asking permission, Pearson walked through to the room that had been officially designated the conference room, though the only time their team used it was to watch surfing footage—or the occasional marathon of _CHiPS_. She sat down at the table, started pulling out some annotated documents from the binder and stacking them on the table in front of her. Pearson didn't look up from her work, seemed to blithely assume that they would all follow her. Kono bit her lip to stop herself from grinning, texted Chin once more: _brah, get back here; things are about to get fun_. She stood and walked into the conference room; heard, behind her, Danny say brightly, "I like her!"

"You like her," Steve said, voice a hollow monotone.

"That's what I said, you getting hard of hearing? You hit your head when we did that thing in the supply closet this morning? Because—"

Kono shut the door of the conference room behind her, glad for its sound-dampening qualities. She loved Steve, she loved Danny, they were like two more annoying, idiot brothers to add to the bunch she already had at home; she was fine with the bickering flirty thing they had going, tolerated it when they got handsy at work, but no way in hell she wanted to hear about their sex life. Turned out there was a cap on the amount of therapy the State would pay for in any one calendar year.

She took a seat at the table, waited for Pearson to look up at her before smiling a greeting and saying, "Bet you don't get this in your workplace, huh?"

Pearson looked out through the window to where Steve and Danny were still going at it. Looked like Steve was ticking things off on his fingers, enumerating something that had Danny tugging at his hair in impatience. Kono really hoped that she and Jenna were better at doing the whole sublimating-the-sexual-energy-into-work thing; Steve and Danny always got the job done in the end, but there was no missing the vaguely manic aura that surrounded them at times when they were sleep-deprived and overworked, when they'd been fucking too much or not enough. (And no, Kono didn't want the details, but she was a cop, she could observe; though frankly, someone barely conscious could pick up on what went on between those two.)

"You'd be surprised, Ms Kalakaua," Pearson said, and there was a rich tint of amusement in her voice, just enough to let Kono know she wasn't exaggerating for effect.

"So," Kono said, leaning forward to look at the papers Pearson had arranged in front of them. They were obviously in an order that made some kind of pattern; Jenna would no doubt have been able to connect them all together after a single glance, but there was no obvious link that Kono could see. "This is what Baker sent you?"

"No," Pearson said. "He told me where to start looking. I had an associate at my firm do some digging overnight and email his findings to me when I arrived in Honolulu."

Kono raised an eyebrow. This was not an insubstantial amount of paperwork to pull together in less than twenty-four hours, even without adding the multi-coloured annotations. "And?"

Pearson laced her fingers together, rested them on the table in front of her. "Tell me, Ms Kalakaua. Have you ever heard of a Chinese intelligence agent by the name of Wo Fat?"

Kono stared at her for a long moment, and then very calmly rose, walked over to the door, opened it gently. "DANNY. BOSS," she yelled, to get their attention over the noise of their bickering. "QUIT THE FOREPLAY, YOU'RE GONNA WANT TO HEAR THIS."

**********

Theodore Baker, it turned out, was indeed as guilty as sin—he cheated on his wife with his mistress, he cheated on his mistress with one-night stands and hookers; his wealth came from business practices that may have skirted the borders of illegal but were definitely immoral; from the way Pearson demurred at certain questions of theirs, Kono wouldn’t have been surprised if it turned out he kicked puppies or stole candy from babies. Baker had indeed solicited a prostitute, but he maintained that not long after he’d picked her up, she’d drugged his drink, and must have planted the evidence in his hotel room. “Not that you know any of this,” Pearson said smoothly, “since it’s both incriminating and privileged client information which I, as a lawyer, would never divulge.”

Danny put a hand over his heart, grinned at her. “Course not, scout’s honour, am I right?” He’d calmed down a lot since he’d found out that not only was there a good chance that his suspicions about the case were correct, but that there was a good chance they might finally be able to get Wo Fat.

“Detective Williams,” Pearson said, so demurely that Kono knew she was laughing on the inside, “I’m going to go out on a limb and surmise that you’ve never been a boy scout.”

“Correct,” Danny said, “though I look pretty good in uniform, if I do say so myself.” The two of them had been flirting in a shameless manner—one that may have lacked intent but certainly didn’t lack heat—since Danny found out Pearson had a season ticket to the Yankees and she’d realised that Danny could match her quote for quote when it came to terrible movies from the Eighties.

It was a testament to how focused Steve was on the evidence spread out in front of him that he was entirely ignoring how his boyfriend seemed to be developing a serious crush on the defence counsel. “So you’ve found evidence that shows Wo Fat was trying to bribe Baker?”

“Indirectly, yes. Baker refused the payments,” Pearson explained. “He didn’t want to expand his company into China—at least not yet, not under these circumstances. The initial payments themselves were impossible to trace back to their source. However, when Baker reversed the charges…” She traced one neatly manicured fingernail across the page, following what Kono now understood to be the trail of a series of shell companies, each nested inside the other like so many Russian dolls. “Bingo.”

“So when Baker didn’t want to play ball with him, Wo Fat decided to take down his whole company as payback,” Steve said. He was frowning hard enough that he was probably going to give himself a headache soon. Kono gave silent thanks that she’d just restocked her desk with Ibuprofen and band aids; Steve McGarrett was the kind of guy who’d insist he could walk off a gut wound, that a concussion wasn’t much to worry about, but could be taken down by the unfamiliar, civilian obstacles of a tension headache or a particularly nasty paper cut.

“And ruin his personal reputation into the bargain, yes,” Pearson confirmed.

“I say this,” Danny said, holding up one hand, “with a full awareness of all the attendant ironies of _me_ saying this, but: Wo Fat seriously has some anger management issues going on.”

“Now how would that be ironic,” Pearson said wryly, “given all those stereotypes of mild-mannered Jersey men.”

“Oh, you smooth talker, you,” Danny said, grinning. Kono hadn’t seen him have this much fun in weeks, since at least the beginning of their most recent avalanche of cases; this kind of bantering was probably a recreational sport for him, as relaxing as taking her board and heading for the North Shore was for Kono.

Kono decided to get the conversation back on track, ask Pearson about the one big issue that no one had raised yet. “So instead of Baker telling us this when we interviewed him, he gets in touch with you? And he’s willing to just hand all this info over without getting anything in return?”

“He had some additional financial arrangements he wanted me to take care of,” Pearson said. Her face was a calm, serene oval, like paintings Kono had seen of centuries-old paintings of the Madonna; difficult to figure out what she was hiding behind that expression, what ‘financial arrangements’ was a euphemism for. “Theo may also have read the recent article about your team in the _New York Times_ and was not entirely certain that you would be… willing to negotiate in a manner with which he was comfortable.”

“That article was full of fabrications,” Steve said. Kono could see a muscle jumping in his cheek. She hoped this wouldn’t be a repeat of the day the article was published; first Steve had gotten very angry, and then he’d grown all mopey and miserable and in the bar that evening, had spent a lot of time drunkenly asking Danny if people understood he was just trying to act honourably. Kono was still paying the bar tab off her credit card.

“Absolutely, babe,” Danny agreed. “ _You’re_ the one who throws people to sharks, not me. Me, I follow procedures, I follow rules, I’m an officer of the law.”

“And the part about you tying a suspect to the hood of your car before driving at speed through downtown Honolulu?” Pearson said, leaning forward, resting her chin on one hand. She looked intensely interested, eyes bright.

“I plead the Fifth,” Danny said without missing a beat.

“So you can see Theo’s point,” Pearson said to Kono, arching an eyebrow.

Kono shrugged. “Hey, I never denied the incident with the grenades. I just didn’t intend for the _whole_ freighter to blow up.”

“Indeed,” Pearson said. “I saw the retractions the paper printed. That was certainly a novel defence strategy that you took.” Her lips quivered, as if she were forcibly holding back a grin. Kono couldn’t blame her; between retractions, clarifications and apologies, the Five-0 team had taken up a whole page in the following edition, too.

“So what does he want?” Steve said, folding his arms and leaning back in his seat.

“He’ll give up some further documentary evidence which is in his possession, plus some personal knowledge as to Wo Fat’s possible whereabouts at this point in time, if you’ll guarantee that he won’t be prosecuted and that he will be placed in the Witness Protection programme along with his wife and children.”

Kono looked at her team. Steve looked like he just wanted to get out on the road and find Wo Fat already. The deal was as good as done in his mind, leaving him squirming from repressed energy in his chair; Kono was pretty sure he was mentally reviewing all the ways he knew to kill someone with his pinkie finger, just in case it would come in useful. They’d been looking for a definitive fix on Wo Fat’s location for a long time, after all; Steve had some issues to work out, probably through the use of incendiary devices.

Danny mostly just looked nonplussed. “And he thought we _wouldn’t_ work with him on that? What, we’d take the info and just toss him”—his hands flapped—“out for the Yakuza to find him, so he needs to fly you all the way out here to speak for him?”

Pearson’s smile was sunny. “You haven’t seen my success rate, Detective. Or how much Baker pays my firm each year in a retainer. Perhaps he’s anxious to get his money’s worth.”

“So many possible answers I could give here,” Danny said, the lines around his eyes crinkling even more as he grinned in return, “but none of them I will venture in mixed company, because my Ma raised me right.”

Kono kicked him under the table.

“Or at all!” Danny said. “Geez, Kono, having a blown out knee is bad enough, I don’t want a broken ankle on top of it.”

“You dish it out, brah, you gotta learn to take it,” Kono said easily. “Just reminding you of appropriate workplace etiquette.”

From across the table, Steve smirked at her.

“Since when does ensuring the healthy functioning of the US legal system result in physical violence, huh?” Danny said, hooking his ankle up over his right knee so that he could massage it with one hand. The other sketched his outrage in the air. “Violence, I ask you, what role does that have in a modern civilisation?”

“My, my, Detective Williams,” Pearson said, placing the cap back on her Mont Blanc fountain pen. “It _has_ been a while since you’ve encountered a New York lawyer, hasn’t it?”

Danny laughed, made a funny little half-bow at her, said, “Lady, if I possessed one, I’d be doffing a hat to you right now.”

**********

Pearson stayed long enough to get them to sign a hard copy of the deal, though only after Steve had scrutinised it carefully to make sure the fine print didn’t have the Five-0 signing over their souls to the law firm of Pearson Hardman.

“Lawyers aren’t interested much in souls, Commander McGarrett,” she said. Now that she’d got what she wanted, Pearson’s smiles came a lot more easily.

“Ha,” Danny said, “what about our firstborn?” He waggled a pencil at her. “Is there a clause in there about firstborns? Because one of your ilk almost got mine away from me, and let me tell you, _that_ I was not so happy about.”

Steve signed on behalf of his team, the jagged, slanting lines of his signature cutting across page after page in thick black ink. While he signed, Pearson— _call me Jessica, please_ —Jessica got recommendations from Kono as to the best beaches near downtown Honolulu.

“My flight back’s not until tomorrow,” Jessica said, “and it seems a shame to bring a bikini all this way and not get to use it.”

Danny looked at little slack jawed at that; Kono couldn’t blame him, either, because hell, Jessica was _slinky_ and Kono was only human.

Jessica left just before lunchtime, the faint scent of expensive perfume lingering behind her, along with a somewhat goofy grin on Danny’s face. Not thirty seconds later, Chin walked in. “Howzit,” he said. “Sorry I’m late, got caught in traffic.” He jerked a thumb over his shoulder in the direction of the door, looking appreciative. “Who was that?”

“That, my friend,” Danny said, gesturing grandly, “that was the platonic ideal of a woman. Anyone who can wear a dress like that and know that much about the Yankees’ batting history?”

Kono and Steve reached out and smacked him upside the head simultaneously.

“Ow!” Danny said, scowling and patting his hair back down. “What the hell was that for?”

“Brah,” Kono said, “if you have to ask... You know no court would convict us.”

Danny rolled his eyes. “Fine, fine,” he grumbled. “You are a fine example of womanhood, Officer Kalakaua, and you’re a pretty good...” He paused and squinted up at Steve. “Well, you’re a pretty good Steve.”

Steve _hmpfh_ -ed at that, but Kono saw how his cheeks pinked up just a bit, and thought he looked just a little bit pleased at the Williams-esque compliment. “Noted,” he said. “Now you want to go actually _use_ this information we have on Wo Fat?”

Danny gestured towards the door in an exaggeratedly chivalrous manner. “After you, my friend, after you.”

“I’m driving,” Steve said, pushing the door open.

“Sure,” Danny said, “No problem, if you also don’t mind buying the beer tonight and also, let me see, oh yes, _sleeping on the couch_.”

They walked out, door swinging shut behind them. Chin slanted a look at Kono, raised an eyebrow. “They been like that all morning?”

“Worse!” Kono confirmed cheerfully, retrieving her gun and her ID from her desk.

Chin rolled his eyes. “I should make sure that Steve isn’t reminded we just got in that new supply of plastique, huh?”

“Never deprive a girl of the prospect of explosives on a Monday, cuz,” Kono said, patting him on the shoulder; his long-suffering sigh, the prospect of action, kept a bounce in her step all the way out to her car.


End file.
